


Don't Touch Me

by blackXroseXdying



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 14:38:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7365595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackXroseXdying/pseuds/blackXroseXdying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Different take on episode 5x05</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Touch Me

"You are out of your fucking...don't touch me." Mickey said, stepping back before my hand could brush his arm. A look of betrayal was clear on his face and underneath that...disgust, maybe? I started to say his name but trailed off as he stormed out of the house, the door slamming behind him.  
Tears gathered in my eyes, and I swiped at the furiously. I didn't deserve to cry. Mickey had said we needed the money. I'd only been trying to help, but instead I'd screwed everything up. I should have been the one to leave, not Mickey.  
I don't know how long I stood in that spot, staring at the place where Mickey had been, but the sound of Yevgeny crying jerked me out of my thoughts and I moved across the room to pick him up. The rest of the day, I tried to keep myself occupied, feeding and playing with Yev, puttering around the house, trying to stop myself from looking at the door every five minutes.   
The light outside was much darker now, and Svetlana had not long walked through the door and taken Yev to put him to bed. I moved around the kitchen, cooking something for dinner, and putting a bowl in the fridge for Mickey for when he got home before climbing into bed. Hopefully Mickey would be home soon so I could apologize, somehow find a way to make up for what I'd done.  
The sound of a door slamming closed jerked me out of the light sleep I'd fallen into and I rolled onto my side, watching the doorway and waiting for Mickey to come into the bedroom.   
Eventually his shadow moved around the darkened room, pulling off shoes and jumper, but leaving on his jeans and the shirt. He usually slept in far less clothing. Mickey slipped under the blanket, staying as close to the edge of the bed as he could get, and pulled the blanket up around his shoulders.  
I shuffled across the mattress, whispered his name and my fingers barely touched his arm before he sprung out of the bed, snatched up his pillow and walked out of the room.  
Tears rolled down my cheeks as I turned away from the door, wrapping the blanket around me like a burrito and burying my face into the pillow beneath my head.

**********************************************************************************

Over the next few days, I did everything I could think of to make it up to Mickey, to prove to him how sorry I was. I worked longer hours at the club during the night, now just behind the bar, trying to bring in as much money as possible. During the day I cleaned the house, scrubbing from room to room, trying to make it look and feel more like a home. I made sure breakfast was ready for Mickey when he got out of the shower in the morning, and dinner was on the table when he walked through the door every night. I fed and bathed Yevgeny, keeping him occupied and making sure he had a few naps during the day.  
Almost a week had past and Mickey had barely spoken to me, would hardly even look at me anymore. He always accepted the food I cooked for him, and once or twice I heard comment on how much better the house looked.  
He still wouldn't let me touch him; anytime I sat too close and our brushed together, or I'd try to hug him after work before we went to sleep, he'd move away from me, as far as possible without actually leaving whatever room we were in at the time. After that first night, he never slept on the couch again, but even with him lying next to me, it felt like he may as well have been gone.  
Today had been a long day. I hadn't slept well last night, Yevgeny was sick and wasn't eating or sleeping properly, mostly he just cried unless I held him and rocked him in my arms. I was holding him now, in one arm, while I stirred the mac and cheese in the pot on the stove.  
Right on time, Mickey walked in, slamming the door so hard that it rattled the windows. He was mumbling to himself, words I couldn't quite hear and he'd obviously had a bad day. He threw his jacket over the back of the couch, kicked his shoes across the room and thumped loudly into a seat the table.   
All the slamming around had woken Yevgeny, who had been lightly dozing with his head on my shoulder and his face in my neck, and now he screamed, crying loud harsh sobs right into my ear.  
"Thanks Mick." I mumbled sarcastically, without thinking.  
"Ain't my fuckin' fault the kid's sick." Mickey said, flicking through a wad of cash and writing numbers in a book. It was the longest sentence he'd spoken to me in days.  
The mac and cheese now finished, I put a heaping bowl in front of Mickey and walked around the living room, rocking Yev and patting his back, singing softly as I tried to get him back to sleep. He eventually calmed down and slowly his sobs turned into the soft whistling noises he made while he slept. I waited a few minutes to make sure he was really asleep before putting him in the crib in the room Svetlana was sleeping in.  
Mickey was still sitting at the table when I walked back out, eating slowly, his eyes closed. His shoulders were tense, had been growing worse everyday, and I walked up behind him now, putting my hands on his shoulders and working my fingers into the muscles.  
That lasted all of a few seconds before he shoved the chair back, pushing me back with it, and walked into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. I leaned against the back of the couch, feeling the sting of tears in my eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that week.  
I gave my self a few minutes, breathing slowly to stop myself from crying completely. Once I was sure I had it under control, I moved around the kitchen, tidying up the small mess I'd made before heading to the bedroom. I tried twisting the handle but it didn't move. Mickey had locked me out. I let go of the handle and walked into the bathroom instead, hoping that by the time I got out of the shower, Mickey would have unlocked the door.

********************************************************************

The barely warm water ran over my skin as I scrubbed hard at my arms, wishing I could scrub away whatever Mickey felt when I tried to touch him. The look of betrayal, hurt and what I'm pretty sure was disgust on Mickey's face that day, sat heavy behind my eyes, and I squeezed them closed, hoping to dispel the image. My legs shook and I let myself fall, sitting in the tub with my legs pulled up to my chest as I continued to scrub at my skin.  
"Ian, what the fuck?" Mickey screamed from the doorway.  
I sat in the tub, letting the water from the shower head pour over me. Tears ran down my cheek, blurring everything in my line of sight. I hadn't even seen Mickey come in.  
"What the fuck are you doing?" Mickey ripped the scrubbing brush from my hands and tossed it across the bathroom, where it clattered loudly to floor beside the toilet. He knelt down next to the tub, grabbing my arm gently. I let out a sigh at the feeling of his hands on my skin for the first time in almost a week. "You're almost fuckin' bleedin'. What the hell is wrong with you, huh?"  
He stared at me with his eyebrows raised, waiting for an answer. I looked back at him, trying to find a way to explain without sounding totally messed up. I took a deep breath, rested my head on my knees.  
"I was trying to make it better." I whispered, hoping he would understand what I was talking about.  
His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Make what better?"  
"You won't touch me anymore." I said slowly. "Ever since I..." my breath caught in my throat and I had to cough a few times before I could speak again. "I thought maybe...if I scrubbed hard enough, you wouldn't be disgusted by me anymore. Maybe you'd at least let me hug you."  
The tears started pouring again and I buried my face in my knees so Mickey wouldn't see. I heard his let out a sigh and his hand let go of my arm. This was my last resort and it hadn't worked. Once I stopped crying I would get dressed and leave. Then Mickey could find someone who wouldn't betray him like I had. I took in a few shuddering breaths, trying to calm myself down and squeezed my eyes closed again.  
The water that had been pouring over me in a cold stream for the past few minutes shut of abruptly and a towel was draped over my shoulders.  
"Come on, get up. You'll get sick if you stay like that." Mickey's voice was soft, but I couldn't tell if he was concerned or annoyed. I could feel my body trembling and only then did I realize how cold I actually was.  
Mickey wrapped an arm around my back and helped me stand up and climb over the edge of the tub. He wrapped the towel around me properly and dragged me to the bedroom, pushing me gently to sit on the side of the bed.  
I barely felt as he dried my skin and pulled a pair of sweatpants over my hips before he pushed me to lie down with my head on a pillow. His pillow. He started walking towards the door and I felt a pain in my chest.   
"Mickey." I choked out, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry." I closed my eyes so I wouldn't have to watch him walk away.  
I heard the click of the door closing and rolled to my side, facing the window. I thought he'd left until the bed dipped next to me and a warm hand pulled on my shoulder until I was once again lying on my back. Fingers traced down my cheek and up into my wet hair.  
"Ian..." Mickey breathed out.  
"Mickey, please. Forgive me? I know...I know how badly I fucked up. I messed up, real bad, but I swear I'll fix it." I stared down at the sheets, not wanting to see whatever look was on his face, knowing it wouldn't be soft and caring. "I don't how, but just tell me, and I'll do it...anything. Please, don't hate me anymore." My voice cracked as the last words left my lips and I closed my eyes again.  
"Fuck Ian." Mickey said, voice a whisper. He rarely used my first name, and I still hadn't figured out if it was a good or a bad thing. "I don't hate you. And yeah, you messed up, and we need to talk about what happened." He shuffled closer to me, his thumb stroking along the skin at the base of my neck. "Ian, look at me."  
I spent a moment to prepare myself for whatever look was on his face, whatever he was about to say, before I tilted my head up and opened my eyes.   
The look on his face was...not what I'd expected. Instead of angry and disgusted, it was just...sad. Hurt. His mouth was turned down slightly at the sides and his eyes were glittery with tears.  
"You need to pack your shit." he said.  
My blood ran cold. He was kicking me out? "What? No, Mickey, please..."  
He cut me off, voice cracking slightly. "There's something wrong with you. You've been...not you, since you came back. You're sick. You need help. I got to take you to a hospital or something, Ian." So he wasn't kicking me out, just wanted to have me committed. "  
I sat up, his hand falling away to lay on the pillow where my head had been. "If you want me to leave then fine, I'll go, but you don't have to say...fuck you." I said, standing up to leave, but Mickey blocked my way out, his hands catching at my bare shoulders.   
"I'm not trying to get rid of you Ian, fuck. But look at this, huh?" his hands moved down to hold my wrists and I saw that my forearm, all the way to the elbow was red raw and spots of blood sat in various places on the skin. "I know, you probably think this is nothing, but you hurt yourself. What if next time it's..." he cut himself off, a pleading look on his face as his eyes met mine. "Please, you need help."  
I stared at him, for what felt like forever before I nodded. "Okay." I said, barely hearing even my own voice. "If you think this will help you..."  
"This ain't about me." Mickey said. His hands came up to the sides of my face and he leaned his forehead against mine. "This is about you, okay? Getting you better. I don't...I don't want to fuckin' lose you okay? I...I love you, Ian."  
I moved my arms around his lower back, hugging him close to me, one of his hands now on the side of my neck, the other one in the back of my hair, our foreheads still touching. He'd finally said it. The three words that I'd once begged him to say. "I love you too, Mickey." I said, and his eyes slipped closed as he let out the breath he'd been holding.


End file.
